


The Summer After.

by Sententiae



Category: Bloody Monday
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-18
Updated: 2011-11-18
Packaged: 2017-10-26 06:27:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/279760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sententiae/pseuds/Sententiae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fujimaru remembers the summer after Otoya was freed from the terrorists.  It’s hard to forget.  Set pre-series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Summer After.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lastingdreams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lastingdreams/gifts).



> Apologies in advance, I’m only familiar with the manga but I hope the piece works just as a little treat. I’m also not entirely sure how much of the manga the drama covers, but I’m sure it must have covered why Otoya doesn’t like guns and terrorists, right? If not, please pretend this treat doesn’t exist!

Fujimaru remembers the summer after. Otoya spends months hidden away in some retreat, recovering from injuries that the politicians only dare speak of in hushed tones and innuendo. He receives the odd text (never from Otoya, because even Fujimaru isn’t allowed to speak to him) stating that everything is fine and that the world has shifted back onto its axis, but he learns more from the newspapers than he does from his friend.

Brave Politician Refuses to Give In to Terrorist Demands.

Integrity Before Family.

Political Hero Makes Bid for Presidency.

Few Japanese papers dare spin the story the way Fujimaru remembers hearing it, all blood and dead children. But the internet, the internet feeds on the scraps the media throws away for being too rich in the truth, and his father has a whole set of interesting connections that Fujimaru is only starting to hook into.

“I’m fine,” Otoya says when they finally do manage to catch up, and if his smile falters around the edges then Fujimaru knows better than to say anything. Fujimaru is learning that it is an Otoya family trait to be fine on demand. At least, that is the only explanation that sits comfortably with him over how Otoya’s grandfather barely seems to care that his grandson has only recently been to hell and back.

Because Fujimaru remembers, remembers how Otoya’s texts - crisp and informative until they were suddenly desperate and terrified - gave him a window into what the world had been like in that moment, even if Fujimaru had remained protected behind bullet proof glass. And Fujimaru remembers how his father hadn’t let him see the devastation for himself, because somehow just seeing the aftermath was something that all children should be protected against.

Otoya doesn’t speak to the media or spin any of the perfectly prepared comments that Fujimaru knows that his grandfather has tried to drill into him, because while he is an Otoya (and therefore is fine) he also refuses to be anyone’s pawn. Even now.

Especially now. The relationship that has always been cold seems now like ice, and Fujimaru has no plans of helping with the thawing process. Otoya’s grandfather is getting everything he deserves.

Otoya does fine well, and their classmates stop seeing him as an oddity once they get used to the way he dismisses their questions with a disinterested smile. Even the reporters that line their school gates leave after the first month, sinking their fangs into a new tabloid fodder that feeds their need for gratification instead of passively allowing for their presence. Otoya’s injuries - and Fujimaru knows they exist - disappear beneath the bulk of his uniform and his always calm gaze, and it is only the sudden shift of weight or unexpectedly blank stare that gives the lingering pain away.

Otoya’s thoughts, whatever they may be, crystallise into something Fujimaru can’t quite put his finger on. Not necessarily worrying, although Fujimaru is not as impressed by Otoya’s constant state of fineness as everyone else is, and not exactly dangerous. Just … there. A shift has occurred, and it is one that Otoya is not willing yet to discuss.

Fujimaru doesn’t ask. They’ve always spoken best through silence, trusting each other to be the one to broach a subject when it is safe to be discussed. Fujimaru makes sure he is always there, and Otoya seems to prefer that to words right now.

Besides, if anyone asks, Otoya is fine, and there are some things that even Fujimaru can’t breach.

And so, he waits instead.

Two months and three days after Otoya returns, Fujimaru is finishing off a project while the school festival is coming to an end outside. The sun has started to set, and fireworks are already sparking up into the sky to approving cheers from the students who have remained behind. Fujimaru has never thought much of fireworks himself, finding the chemical reactions behind them often more beautiful that the predictable end results.

His phone beeps, a familiar ring tone that makes Fujimaru abandon his work immediately so that he can flip his phone open to the incoming text.

 _I’m fine._

Fujimaru has installed a tracking device into Otoya’s phone, a proper one now that tells Fujimaru his location immediately instead of Fujimaru having to waste precious minutes patching through to different satellites. His friend is still in the school, across the courtyard and down in the basement library. Probably studying late. Fujimaru leaves his bag where it is, doesn’t bother with the stairs, vaulting over the window frame and tucking into a roll as he hits the ground below. It’s only a one story drop and so he is on his feet before he even has a moment to catch his breath.

 _Don’t worry, nothing is wrong._

The dread settles in his stomach as he skids through a corridor, mentally calculating the shortest way to Otoya. If he turns left here he can cut almost four seconds off … he changes direction mid step.

“Hey! Look where you are going, moron!”

 _Just … fine._

The library is empty at this time of the evening. Those who have stayed behind have mostly positioned themselves somewhere near the fireworks display, and the library doesn’t even have any windows.

Otoya sits on the floor against the far wall, his gaze distant and his knees pulled up against his chest. His cellphone sits, forgotten, at his side, and books lay scattered around him in a mess.

“Otoya,” Fujimaru says quietly, not wishing to alert his friend but managing to do that anyway. Otoya’s eyes shoot up at him like a startled animal, all reflex and very little immediate recognition.

“Fujimaru?” Otoya finally says after a beat too long. “What are you doing here?” He adds hoarsely, confusion clouding heavy eyes. Fujimaru realises then that Otoya doesn’t even know that he has been texting him.

The scream of a firework pierces through the air, and Otoya violently shudders, all jagged edges and staccato movement.

Fujimaru pauses for a second, his mouth thinning into a frown as he types a handful of code into his phone before chucking it to the side. He slides down the wall so he is sitting beside Otoya, close enough that they’re not touching and yet he still feels as though they are sharing the same air.

“Hey.”

Otoya nods his own greeting back, but his eyes remain fixated on something straight ahead. He’s trying to strip away all the things that are terrifying him, Fujimaru can tell, weaving back in common sense and reality. Otoya knows where he is, but all it takes-

Otoya closes his eyes when the next firework goes off.

“Would you like me to take you home?” It is the wrong thing to say, and Fujimaru regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth. There are so many things he could have said instead (“come home with me” is instantly better, and what he had intended to say even if it had become lost on the way to his tongue), and Otoya is suddenly laughing, his shoulders shaking in mirth.

And Otoya is laughing, laughing and laughing until the line blurs and he is sobbing, dropping his head down onto his knees and curling down onto himself so that the whole world - so that Fujimaru - is shut away. It’s uncomfortable to watch, and Fujimaru is very good at some things, most things, but this … this is not easy.

That isn’t Otoya’s fault, and so Fujimaru gives up on the things he might screw up (words hadn’t worked all that well last time, so he abandons them first), and instead places one hand on Otoya’s hair and pulls him slightly into him. Otoya barely seems to notice, too caught up in whatever world he’s been dragged back into. But, he doesn’t push Fujimaru away, and even though he feels less a pillar of support and more a piece of the furniture, Otoya’s sobs start to subside before simply stopping, leaving an empty silence where there had once been raw emotion.

It’s not Fujimaru’s silence to fill.

“There’s nothing at home,” Otoya says eventually, his voice cloudy and thick. He lifts his head and places his chin on his knees, although the act is so laboured that Fujimaru wonders how heavy his head must feel to Otoya. “Just … just him.” He practically spits out the last word, all desperation and loneliness. Fujimaru will never understand what drives the dynamics in Otoya’s family, although everything seems to function around whatever needs his grandfather seems to have.

“Ok. We’ll stay here, then.” Easy, simple. Fujimaru locked down part of the hallway on his way here, so they won’t be disturbed.

“What … what about the fireworks?” Otoya asks with hesitation, a tangible self loathing colouring his tone.

A smirk quirks at the corner of Fujimaru’s lips.

“What _happened_ to the fireworks?” Otoya corrects, his head dipping to the side so that his gaze can slide over to Fujimaru.

“Sprinkler system,” Fujimaru says offhandedly. “They’re not going to be able to turn them off for at least another five hours.” They’re just far enough away from the main field that the surprised screams that surely resulted from that little trick didn’t quite carry to where they are, although that had been a calculated risk. He doesn’t want to think how the combined shrill of the fireworks and the surprised shouts of a group of young people might have impacted on Otoya. A flicker of humor sparks briefly in Otoya’s tired gaze. “Want to take a nap? You look wiped out.”

“I’ve been sleeping,” Otoya responds immediately, as though Fujimaru is performing a medical and Otoya has been given all the correct answers before hand.

“I know,” Fujimaru answers. You’ve been sleeping too well, he doesn’t add, and not for the first time he wonders what kind of cocktail Otoya downs each night - if he is even aware himself. Otoya tries to resist, but Fujimaru has a feeling that this is the safest Otoya has felt since he was rescued. It’s really only a matter of minutes, and that disturbs Fujimaru maybe a bit more than it should.

It’s awkward and strange, being so close to Otoya in a way that is unnaturally intimate. In sleep his exhaustion shines through, free of all the mechanisms that Otoya uses to manipulate everything into submission. Idly, Fujimaru reaches down and wipes at some of the tear streaks, careful not to wake him now that has finally slipped into a more natural sleep.

Fujimaru doesn’t think he is ever going to trust himself enough to let Otoya go again.

And, in his own way, he never does.

Fujimaru never intends to fall asleep himself, but he wakes sometime later (much later, his internal clock says it is now morning even if there are no windows to determine if this is the case) to find Otoya already awake and on his feet, wryly trying to brush the creases from his uniform. Fujimaru yawns and stretches, but doesn’t bother to get up.

“I have flashbacks,” Otoya says, his back to Fujimaru. There is a tension in his shoulders that makes Fujimaru wince sympathetically. “And every time someone screams - it doesn’t even matter why they scream - it’s like I’ve been shot. Everything slides out of focus and it’s like the floor is buckling beneath me and I can’t breathe-” Otoya breaks off, gulping down a breath of air. “I’m better,” he stresses defiantly. “But, it’s not...”

“I know,” Fujimaru finishes when Otoya can’t. ‘Fine’ is off the table. “What can I do?”

“You can buy me breakfast,” Otoya quips, finally turning around. His smile almost makes it to his lips before it fades away completely. “I … I think I need to talk.” Otoya seems even hesitant to admit that, but there is a solidness to him in that moment that has been missing for months.

“Sounds good.”

This time, his smile lasts almost until they reach the door.

It’s a start.


End file.
